“Ok, guys, which pumpkin do you like best?” I asked.
I lifted a sheet of paper with several rough sketches of jack-o-lanterns.
“I like this one,” Ian said, pointing to a sketch with a fearsome appearance.
“This one,” answered James, barely looking up and pointing to a sketch with a jolly countenance.
I already knew which ones they liked, but I wanted to make sure. I have carved many pumpkins over the years but my critics and audience these days are James and Ian and they have distinctly different tastes. James likes his pumpkin to have a happy face, eyes wrinkled in merriment and with a large, gap-toothed smile prominently displayed. Ian likes his pumpkin carved in a more threatening style, with narrowed eyes, cat-slit pupils and a jeering scowl of a mouth.
None of my pumpkins are works of art. I use traditional patterns with the eyes and nose made of modified triangles and a leering mouth with a few prominent teeth. My pumpkins have always pleased children, though, and they are the toughest critics. Most importantly, I always light my pumpkins with candles.
Ian’s nose wrinkled in displeasure under his mask as I lifted the scorched pumpkin lid to relight the candle.
“Yuck, that smells,” he said.
I used to think so, too, but at age 10, I had a glimmer of insight that I would not be a child forever and that I should embrace this peculiar aroma and cherish it. Although I would outgrow trick-or-treating, I could inhale the scent of scorched pumpkin and remember all of the wonderful Halloween evenings that I had enjoyed.
Both of my sons were super heroes last year. James wanted to be Batman and Ian decided on his own to be Robin. I closed my eyes and took in a deep whiff of the aroma of the burning pumpkin as my Dynamic Duo held their noses. I placed my pumpkins safely inside my home on a board propped up behind our picture window, set at a height to be readily visible from the street. Not only does this keep my pumpkins safe from wanton vandalism, it also provides a welcoming sight when I return with our costumed characters from our rounds.
I replaced the lid on the pumpkin and took my Batman and Robin out for the evening. We visited friends and family and enjoyed the cool clearness of the autumn evening. By the time the trick-or-treating was over, my Caped Crusader and Boy Wonder were yawning and their feet were dragging, worn out from the excitement and the long walk.
With Halloween finally over and our two super heroes tucked snugly into bed, I returned to the living room to tidy up. Some day, the boys will be able to appreciate this aroma that occurs only one time each year. As I lifted the lids to blow out the candles, I inhaled deeply. Once again, memories flooded through me, borne on the scent of scorched pumpkin.
Bill Bartlett and his wife, Sandi, live in Belton with their two sons.